First Comes Marriage
by pressontoknow
Summary: I stare across the table at Ronald as he speaks with Lacy Hoeffer. She is a beautiful, talented witch, and she seems to have no problem flirting with my husband. I shudder, discreetly close my eyes, and remind myself that he's married to me. It's been five weeks since Ron and I were married. Completely unexpected.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Welcome to my first Harry Potter fanfic! I'm not sure how devoted I'll be to this, but I thought I'd throw out what I have so far and see what kind of response I get. It's definitely a different twist from many other stories, but I hope it's enjoyable.**

**This is a bit of an AU in that I'm writing based on the theory that Ron and Hermione didn't "hook up" at the end of Deathly Hallows. Nothing happened between them then. As the story progresses there'll be a bit of background as to what happened afterwords, in my universe.**

**Chapters will switch between Ron and Hermione's separate points of view.  
**

**Don't own Harry Potter-if I did we would have seen what happened with Ron and Hermione! :(**

**Hermione**

I stare across the table at Ronald as he speaks with Lacy Hoeffer. She is a beautiful, talented witch, and she seems to have no problem flirting with my husband.

None of us really know her, but she's a friend of Molly's distant cousin, so she felt she had a right to gain free lodging at the Burrow while she was passing through, rather than renting a room. She's stuck to Ron like a fly to honey ever since she laid eyes on him. I shudder, discreetly close my eyes, and remind myself that he's married to _me_.

It has been five weeks since Ron and I were married. It's probably one of the strangest marriage stories anyone will ever hear, and completely unexpected.

It had been eleven months since Voldemort's death. Ron, Harry, and I had spent those months at the Ministry as we sat through and testified at trial after trial for Death Eaters that had been captured in the final battle. Hundreds, if not thousands, were still at large across the countries as they tried to regroup, following the terrible blow we dealt them in Voldemort's death. We put away those captured to the jails as the war continued against those remaining.

None of us were able to visit our families during those months, though the Weasleys did have occasion to come and us visit at times. Arthur came most often—we saw him almost every week. George lived only several miles away with Alicia, whom he had married two weeks following the battle, and their son Peter Frederick, born ten months following the wedding. We saw them every few weeks, with a special effort to visit more often after Peter's birth. All of us wanted to see as much of his life as we possibly could, despite our hectic schedules.

We saw Bill and Fleur hardly at all, except for the birth of their little daughter, Victoire Lilia, born seven months following the battle, and then at Harry and Ginny's wedding a month later. Ginny came to live with Harry after the wedding, and I was glad to have her there. I needed a female friend to pour my heart out to, especially since Ron's feelings for me were becoming clearer and clearer, but he still wouldn't say anything to me about it. I was so confused, and I needed someone to talk to.

Even if we had been officially dating, Ron and I wouldn't have had much time to go out. We were in court so much, there was hardly time to sleep and eat, much less be very devoted to one another. But we tried to spend as much time together, along with Harry and Ginny, outside of the courtrooms as we could. As we were all lodging in the same place, the four of us ate most of our meals together, and would often take a walk to the local park.

There was sometimes a band playing, and at Christmas there were several plays. We paired off for those events, Harry and Ginny, me and Ron. One of the Christmas plays was a story of how a young married couple sold different things—he sold his watch, she sold her hair—so they could buy special presents for each other. I remember that night particularly because Ron held my hand when we were walking back to our rooms. I thought that was the night he'd actually say something—he'd tell me he loved me—but he just wished me a happy Christmas, kissed my cheek, and went off to bed. I don't know that I've ever been so confused, or disappointed.

As a Christmas present from the Ministry, we received the news that the trials were concluded, and we could go home. I was released two weeks earlier than Harry and Ron, so I took Ginny with me to visit my parents before we went back to London to join the entire Weasley family. Arthur and Molly, along with Bill and his family, George and his family, Charlie, and Percy, had all come to London to celebrate with the rest of the Ministry in a gala organized in honor of the death of Voldemort and the concluding trials. Three days afterwards we would all go back to the Burrow by train.

When we boarded the train that day, we were a bit concerned; there had been a news message broadcast two days prior across all the magical stations that Muggle officials were demanding that all Muggleborns be forcibly returned to their home provinces, while all non-Muggles return to the magical provinces of their birth. The Muggle officials wanted a complete separation between the two types, and newscasters were likening it to the Berlin Wall of ages past. The only exceptions were for those Muggles who were married to halfbloods or purebloods. We didn't think too much of the announcement, however. Though we saw some Muggles boarding trains to return to their provinces on our way to the station, we reasoned that, once I was at the Burrow, I'd be able to hide out for a few days till all the fuss died down.

The train ride to the Burrow would take about three hours, and the time passed pretty quickly. I was with Ron, Harry, Ginny, Arthur, Molly, and Percy, while the rest of the family was in a separate compartment. About two hours into the journey, however the train came to a sudden halt. My first thought was the news broadcast, and by the looks on everyone else's faces, I could tell they were thinking the same. Ron immediately took my hand in his while Arthur and Harry went to go see what was going on.

They came back running, along with George, Charlie, Bill, and all the rest. "They're taking all the Muggles from the trains!" Harry exclaimed.

I gasped and leapt to my feet with Ron.

"They have a device that scans everyone's eyes," Arthur continued, "and it shows their true names, so you can't even lie about your name!"

My mind raced as I frantically tried to think of some sort of solution to this horrific problem. What on earth was I supposed to do? Even my eyes would betray me: Hermione Jean Granger, Muggleborn.

"Why don't we just Confundle them?" Charlie exclaimed. "They'll just pass her by!"

"We can't do that, idiot!" Percy cried, slugging his older brother in the arm. "Tension between the Ministry and Muggles is bad enough without us using magic on Muggle police! We could start a war!"

Everyone fell quiet as we pondered the truth in Percy's words. Suddenly, Molly screamed. I let out a little squeak of terror and fought the urge to leap into Ron's arms.

"Ron!" she shrieked, turning and shoving a finger in her youngest son's chest, "you'll just have to marry her!" Her eyes shone with delight at her brilliant plan.

I couldn't breathe. _Marry Ron?!_ Yes, I cared for him. Yes, I had hoped that someday, perhaps if things worked out, we might marry. But marry him now? Right this moment, no warning or anything? _God!_ I cried out in my heart. _Please let there be another way!_ I stared around at everyone else's faces, hating them all for agreeing with Molly that this was the best and _only_ idea—there had to be _something_ else; everyone put aside your matchmaking tendencies for just one moment!—but I dreaded looking at Ron until he squeezed my hand and spoke quietly. "Hermione, can I speak with you for a moment?"

And we found a minister and were married with some rings the minister procured from his bag and resized to fit us. Seconds after I signed the marriage license, the Muggle police burst in, but my eyes had changed, and now read: Hermione Granger-Weasley, married to Ronald Weasley, pureblood.

Ron and I are married in name only, contrary to most people's beliefs. We've been living together at the Burrow guest house ever since the wedding, but we sleep in separate beds. I had hoped we would try to make the most of this fiasco by getting to know each other better, maybe even learning to care for each other enough to have children and share a life, but Ron doesn't seem interested in that idea, and I'm not about to humiliate myself by bringing it up. In all honesty, I don't feel secure in our marriage, and Lacy certainly isn't helping.

She arrived this afternoon and made quite a stir amongst the Burrow inhabitants, who right now are Arthur, Molly, Harry, Ginny, and Aunt Muriel, who's here for a weeklong visit. Ron and I come to eat dinner most nights, and Molly requested that we be here early to greet their guest. Her jet black hair was flying back as she drove up, in a _convertible_ nonetheless, and she made a very striking picture when she got out of the car in her low-cut blouse and short skirt. Her high heels clicked as she walked up the stone path to the house, and I decided to hate her as soon as I saw how she devoured Ron with her eyes even as she greeted Molly. My hatred has deepened since, as he's obviously not averse to her flirting, and even decided to sit next to her at dinner rather than with me. I'm down at the other end with Aunt Muriel, whose derogatory comments about my frizzy hair and skinny ankles aren't improving my mood in any degree.

I watch the two of them talking and laughing together as they sit side by side sharing a piece of the chocolate cake, Lacy insisting that she can't eat a whole piece by herself, Ron becoming quiet and serious as Lacy seems to confide something to him. I've lost my appetite as I absentmindedly cut my cake into tiny pieces, pressing the nail of my left ring finger into my palm until I gasp from the pain. Tears fill my eyes as I twist my wedding ring around on my finger. Why am I feeling this way? I need to trust Ron, to know that I can trust him with other women, but right now, if I'm honest with myself, I admit that I don't really trust him with Lacy, at least from the way he's acting now. I'm so jealous I can hardly see straight. Obviously he's attracted to Lacy, having chosen to sit with her at the dinner table rather than next to his _wife_. _I have to get out of here_, I think to myself. I quietly excuse myself from the table and hurry out of the room. I actually feel physical pain in my heart as I see Harry's sympathetic eyes following me out.

I hurry up to Ron's room, but I've barely had time to pull my wand out of my purse when Ron comes banging in. "Hermione, are you ok—" His voice catches as he sees my wand and realizes I'm leaving. "Where're you going?" he asks as he shuts the door.

"I think it's fairly obvious that I'm _leaving_, Ronald," I shoot back, knowing I shouldn't speak to him with such a bite in my voice but at the same time not caring. "Did you leave Lacy to finish her cake all by herself?" I aim a kick at one of his quaffle balls with a muttered, "She probably can't handle it."

"Hermione…what do you mean?"

"What do I mean?!" I shriek, whirling to face him and slapping my hair into my face in the process. "I am your _wife_, Ronald! The least you can do is sit with me at dinner, much less refrain from flirting with some girl in front of your entire _family_!"

Ron's face flushes with anger as he runs a hand through his red hair. "I was not _flirting_ with her! We were just talking! How dare you accuse me of something like that, Hermione?"

"How dare I?!" I cry, realizing the whole family can probably hear us but not really caring anymore. "You are supposed to honor me, Ron; you have obligations to me as my husband!"

"As your husband?!" Ron explodes, coming toward me until he's just a few feet away. "When have you _ever_ treated me as your husband, Hermione? Nothing has changed between us since our wedding, and it _should_ have! You sure as heck aren't acting like my wife, either!"

"You don't even wear your wedding ring!" I scream, getting up in his face as I shriek the one thing that hurts me the most. I know he's right—I haven't been treating him as my husband, and that needs to change—but it kills me to just see his ring on his bedside table every day, instead of on his finger where I placed it. "Are you keeping your options open, Ron, not telling the ladies that you're _married_ until the last possible moment? Why do you hide our marriage?!"

Ron looks stunned at my words, and there's such deep hurt in his eyes I almost reconsider. But I'm out of control and too ashamed to turn back now; I don't want to face where I've been wrong and try to work through it. I turn around and pick up my purse and wand.

"Goodbye, Ronald," I whisper through tears, not bothering to turn and face him again, and then I'm gone.

Within seconds I'm back in the guest house. The fact that I can still see the Weasley home just a half mile away holds a sort of irony for me. At least I'm able to get away.

"What am I doing?" I mutter to myself as I slowly set my purse down on the kitchen table and turn to the window. I hug my body as I bore holes into Ron's bedroom window, hoping I'll be able to just catch a glimpse of him. But it's too far away and all I can see is that he's turned off the light. He probably went back downstairs to be with Lacy.

_Now that is enough_, I command myself. _Ron was right. You haven't treated him as you should have. Does he know you still write letters to Krum, and you haven't exactly told the man you're married yet? Have you ever even tried to act like his wife? This stuff is permanent, Grang—Weasley. He is an imperfect husband, but you're an imperfect wife._

For a moment I consider going back, talking to Ron, figuring things out right away. But I know I'm still too angry, and he probably is too. If I go back now I'll probably say something worse. No. I'll give it a few days, and then try to talk to him about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks to everyone for your reviews! I made some changes to the end of the last chapter after receiving some reviews that it was distasteful. I hadn't really liked it, either, so I just changed it to make us all happy. I also switched around some of the timeline due to the storyline I'm going along now-it needs to be a different time of year.**

**Anyway, all boring stuff aside, it's incredibly easy to curse through a British character! I ****_never_**** curse in my day-to-day life, but I'm all about the "bloody hells" and "blimeys" in this fic!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own the characters; otherwise, Ron would be mine.**

Ron

I drag myself out of bed the next morning at 7, feeling half-dead after a night of restless sleep. I spent the night at the Burrow, but I'm not used to it anymore. I hang my feet over the edge of the bed and hold my head in my hands. That was my first night without Hermione sleeping in the same room in weeks. Her tendency for rising early seems to have rubbed off on me, though; it used to be that I wouldn't be up until 10 or 11. But I can't sleep anyway after everything that happened yesterday.

My fight with Hermione was one of the worst we've ever had. We've bickered a lot over the years, but I can honestly say I've never said so many things with the express intention of causing her pain. I was so angry yesterday, and I know that one of the reasons I was so outraged was because she was right.

I tried taking Bill's advice. I tried flirting and compliments; I grimace as I recall her reaction to my comment: "Your hair looks really huge today." It was meant to be a compliment—I like how big her hair is!—but she's really sensitive about it, and looking back I know I probably could have thought of something better to say. I tried giving presents—what girl wouldn't like a giant bouquet of dandelions? I forgot she has hay fever.

Honestly, Bill gave great advice. His marriage to Fleur is thriving and happy. But I really just didn't try hard enough in wooing Hermione. And because I didn't want to go back and redo everything to the best of my ability, I decided to just try and make Hermione jealous. It worked, but I see now what a horrible, wicked thing that was to do to my wife.

Hermione's always been insecure. I don't really know why—she's bloody _brilliant_, and beautiful, and kind—but she's just never really seen herself that way. I guess that goes for everyone—everyone has their insecurities, those ones that nobody but themselves would ever notice.

For instance, I don't like my freckles. I don't like my hair. I don't like my big, clumsy hands. But apparently some people do, 'cause I've seen the way some girls look at me, and it's not with contempt. See what I mean? What I see as my flaws, other people fancy.

Hermione looks at me differently. But then, she has all these different looks for me. There's her angry look, like when I make some snide comment about her parents. There's her hurt look, like when I made that comment about her hair.

But then there's that other look. That look that says…she sees something _good_ in me. She doesn't just see my clumsy nature, how I always say the wrong stuff and do the wrong things, how the only thing I'm really good at is Quidditch, and what does _that _matter. Hermione gave me this particular look when I brought her those dandelions, even if she couldn't accept them. She looked at me like that when Fred was buried and I wrapped my arms around my mum while Dad has his arms around George. And then again at Harry and Ginny's wedding, when I made my best man's speech and actually said the _right_ things at the _right_ time and made people laugh and cry and smile. Even the other day, when I gathered all my courage and actually killed the spider in the shower so she wouldn't have to take care of it when she went in to take a bath.

We see so much good in each other, me and Hermione. Everyone says we click, and I guess we do, in a way. We fight like cats and dogs sometimes, but that's just our thing, just our passionate natures clashing, and we always end up okay.

I'm not so sure after this fight.

I take my time in the shower, trying to clear my head and figure out how on earth I'm going to apologize and make things right between Hermione and me. Finally, when I'm clean and dry I tiptoe downstairs, hoping I won't wake more people than necessary. I know they all heard our row last night, and it's a bit embarrassing.

Mum's the only one I see this morning; Dad's already gone off to work and everyone else is still asleep. She gives me a look when I come down. You know the look—the one mothers give their sons when they've done something completely terrible but the mothers can't directly do anything about it, so they try to influence through fear and intimidation.

Well, my mum's terrifying when she tries to implement those tactics. I'm practically out the door before she can even say a word.

"Take some plates of food, Ronald," she says softly as I'm making my ways towards the door. "I doubt Hermione will be up to making breakfast this morning."

_ Thank you, Mum, as if I didn't feel bad enough already._

I make my way slowly across the field to the guest house. I could always just Apparate, but I want some more time to think. I mean, it won't matter anyway—I'll still have no idea what to say when I see her—but I'm not averse to stalling.

The guest house is situated about a quarter mile from the Burrow. It was mainly used back when we all lived at home, back when Ginny and I were real little and Charlie and Bill still stayed here in the summers. There wasn't any room for relatives to stay in the house then, so Dad built the guest house. It's fallen into a bit of disrepair in recent years because the population at the Burrow's been thinning out and there's more room, but my mum and dad insisted that Hermione and I have our own place while we figured out what we were going to do, both with our marriage and the rest of our lives now that we've finally defeated Voldemort.

The house is really little—just a front room, kitchen/dining room, and a bed and bath. Thankfully the bedroom's a bit larger than most, so I set up a cot underneath the window while Hermione takes the bed. It's worked out alright so far, though it's a bit awkward to share a room, and a house, with your best friend who happens to be a very attractive woman.

I come through the back door straight into the kitchen, but Hermione's not awake yet. I'm surprised; usually she's up at the crack of dawn.

Hermione's been on a Muggle kick lately, urging me to use magic only when I really need to, so she's been teaching me all about washing machines and using vacuum cleaners and washing dishes. I think it's kind of silly, but I go along with it to please her—it's not like it takes that much more effort.

I throw a load of laundry in the wash—just mine, we haven't quite worked up to doing each other's laundry—and put the plates of food in the oven to stay warm. I've just sunk my hands into the sink full of warm, sudsy water, when I hear her come up behind me.

I turn around and grab a towel so I don't drip all over the floor. I know how she hates that.

Her eyes are red and puffy, and her hair's going crazy. She's wrapped up in a fluffy, polka-dotted bathrobe that Ginny gave her for Christmas, and she's folding her arms as she gazes at me like she's trying to protect herself.

This silence is really awkward. I gesture to the oven. "Mum sent over some food. Are you hungry?"

She nods slowly and quietly takes a seat at the table. I hurry to pull out the plates of toast, bacon, and eggs and give her a plate and some silverware. I get us both glasses of water because there's no coffee ready yet.

For several minutes the only sound is that of silverware clinking against the plates. I glance at Hermione frequently, but she seems wholly devoted to her breakfast. I catch her looking at me once, but she quickly looks away and takes a small bite of toast.

_Just say it. I'm sorry. I was trying to make you jealous, that's all, I don't actually fancy that Lacy twit. You know my type, Hermione…you're my type._

I finish off my glass of water and speak before I even have time to freak myself out. "I want to tell you that…I'm sorry about last night…I shouldn't have been acting that way with Lacy, and…I know I hurt your feelings. So. I just wanted to apologize."

I'm shocked to see tears in her eyes when she finally looks up at me. We just gaze at each other for a moment and then she says, "You made me really angry."

I reach over and cover her hand with mine, against doing it before I can scare off. She blushes and looks away, and I can feel my ears heating up. My family seems to think we've been making dirty love all around our house ever since the wedding, but this is actually the first time we've held hands when we weren't running for our lives and dragging each other along helter skelter.

"We both said awful things last night," Hermione continues, her voice changing to that steady, even tone she uses when she's just getting through a difficult situation, and forces her eyes back on me, "and I want you to know that I'm sorry too." She turns her hand over to interlace her fingers with mine, and my heartbeat speeds up. "What are we even doing, Ron?"

I sigh and force myself to move to sit in the chair directly next to her. She shifts to face me. "I don't know… It's almost like nothing's changed since we got married, and everything's changed at once. We sure don't act like we're married most of the time, but then we don't even talk anymore and it's like we're not even friends."

Hermione's eyes are shiny again as she nods. "I know, and I _miss_ you, Ron." She squeezes my hand and leans forward intensely. "I mean, it's great that I'm on this side of the line now"—the Muggle government has now made it illegal for Muggles to interact with "the other side" for more than five hours at a time, and they're trying to move all Muggles from non-Muggle residency areas—"but things have changed so much between us, it almost doesn't feel worth it." She hurries on before I can protest. "You used to be my best friend, Ron. And now that you're my husband…we're not even friends anymore."

I'm silent for awhile, trying to figure out how on earth to express my thoughts after all this. She's quiet and sits back to wait for me—she knows it's harder for me to articulate my thoughts than it is for her.

"Okay," I say at last, taking a huge breath for courage, "just let me get all this out before you say anything."

She nods and shifts her hand so she can have a better grip on mine.

"I miss you too, Hermione, 'cause you're right—we're not really friends anymore. But we can't really go back to being _just_ friends, you know?" I run my hand awkwardly through my hair and let out a frustrated breath. "I…" _Bloody hell, just spit it out._ "I was going to ask you out that day, Hermione, when we got back to the Burrow. I was going to ask you to go to the village with me and have dinner."

Her shocked expression actually sort of boosts my courage—maybe I wasn't as obvious as my whole bloody family and Harry were always so eager to point out. Then again, Harry always said Hermione loved me and I couldn't see it.

"Here's what I'm thinking," I say in a strangled voice, desperately grasping at all that courage I used to smash that bloody locket and take away Bellatrix's wand. "I do want us to be friends again, Hermione, but…we're married. And we're going to be for the rest of our lives. So…maybe you'd want to go on a date with me? I care about you, so, so much, and we just…we need to stop joking ourselves pretending our wedding didn't happen. Because it did, and we need to figure out how to do this…thing."

I nod at her to signal that I'm finally done. I don't know if I've ever said so much to her without her interrupting.

"That sounds good, Ron," she says simply, squeezing my hand. Her eyes twinkle. "Let's try this married thing."

I grin and move to get my plate so I can eat while I'm sitting next to her. "Great."

She reaches out suddenly and takes my other hand to study the band of gold. "You're wearing your wedding ring," she comments softly.

I nod and squirm at the heat rushing up my neck. "Figured the chap in this married thing needed a ring."

She grins at me, and I finally have to tear my eyes away because now my face is heating up and it's bloody embarrassing to blush in front of your _wife_.

"We need to figure out what we're going to do now," Hermione comments after a couple minutes of comfortable silence. "We can't stay here forever."

I nod. It's weird, being responsible adults after so many years of dealing with way more responsibility than any kid ever should. Adult responsibility is so much better.

Long before we finished with our trials, Hogwarts had been repaired and classes were back in session, but our professors saw, just as Harry, Hermione, and I could, that we couldn't go back. We'd left that quiet life of school and childhood years ago. All those years since Voldemort's return had just been a farce.

McGonagall's headmistress now, and she concluded, with the consultation of others Hogwarts professors we studied under, that we all—Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and I—had more than sufficient education in the use and practice of magic to graduate. Our diplomas were sent about halfway through the trials, and that was that. We were done with that part of our lives.

Hermione and I are both twenty now—she'll be twenty-one before the year's up—so it's about bloody time we own up to all that adult responsibility and figure out what we're going to do with the rest of our lives. My dad's after me to get a job at the Ministry, but the last thing I ever wanted was a desk job. Hermione just kind of wanted to stay in school forever—it's one of the only things she feels like she's good at—so she really has no idea what she going to do.

We fit together so perfectly. Both absolutely clueless and without direction in life.

I'm just about to say something else when something runs into our kitchen window.

Hermione shrieks and grips my hand even tighter as we both whirl around to see what the devil scared us both half into our graves.

An owl that I recognize from the owlery at Hogwarts is sitting perched on our window sill, having shoved the window open, and is blinking at us calmly as if it running headlong into windows is a normal, everyday occurrence.

"I recognize you," Hermione says softly as she makes her way over to the bird. I follow her and watch as she removes a letter from the owl's carrier. The bird flies off immediately—apparently it wasn't instructed to wait for our reply.

"It's from Professor McGonagall," Hermione says with surprise as she studies the letter before opening it.

We both stand in shocked silence for a moment as we read the contents.

_My dear Ronald and Hermione Weasley,_

_ You must know what a strange sort of pleasure it is to address my former pupils as a married couple. May I simply say that, though perpetual blindness on both your parts was a constant throughout your years under my supervision, neither I nor any others at our dear school ever doubted that there would someday be a happiness for you both that somehow included the other. The circumstances of your marriage were certainly unusual, but there are many roads that lead to the same place._

_ You both know that I am not in the habit of writing letters for the sake of mere courtesy or correspondence, so I will get right to the point._

_ In the aftermath of this dreadful war in which we are finally conquerors, Hogwarts has lost some valuable members, pupils and staff included. In regards to staff we are severely shorthanded and are avidly searching for replacements to those men and women who so courageously stood in the line of fire, paying a very dear cost as a result._

_ In our search, the two of you immediately came to my mind. I understand that you must be at a loss as to how to lead a "normal" life after so many years of continuous fighting. May I suggest that you return to Hogwarts, no longer as pupils, but as instructors for the next generation to fight for the good of all. In observing you both in your years at Hogwarts, I have seen much to admire: your dedication to your studies, your fight to ensure the defeat of Voldemort, and your responsibility through your actions as Prefects._

_ Hermione, we are in desperate need of an Arithmancy professor, as well as one for Healing Arts and Transfiguration now that I am wholly occupied with my duties as headmistress. Should you choose to accept a position hear at Hogwarts, we would certainly not require you to instruct in all three subjects; rather, we would have you choose the area you feel you would be most useful in. I have no doubt of your proficiency in any of these spheres._

_ Ronald, I am not sure you ever considered teaching as an option in your choice of career, but I do not hesitate to offer you the position as Quidditch coach here at our school. Though I may not display the enthusiasm of many for the sport, I am an avid fan and have always admired your skill and technique on the field. I feel you are more than qualified for this position, should you choose to accept it._

_ I entreat you both to take as much time as you need to consider my offer. Should you be interested in accepting, I have scheduled an appointment for the two of you on the second of July at ten o'clock. I dearly hope to see you both at that time._

_ Please pass on my best wishes to both of your families. I look forward to hearing from you._

_With warmest affection,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

"Well," Hermione says in a shaky voice, gripping my hand tightly in hers, "there's an idea."

**AN: I don't know if anyone noticed, but I moved Ron and Hermione's ages up a bit-it was just too weird for me to think of the married when they were barely adults. Just try to ignore it and move on with the rest of the story if it bothers you.**


	3. Chapter 3

I am officially a horrible person.

I've always known that I was a horrible cook. I was away from home so much over the years, I never learned how to cook from my mom, and honestly at school I was a bit more concerned with mixing potions—you know, imminent return of the Dark Lord and all—than mixing brownie batter. Molly Weasley would have been more than happy to teach me, but Ginny hated cooking and always convinced me to do something else more fun whenever I had the urge to fit some cooking lessons into my free summer days. Because, you know, at the end of my life I'll be really glad that I sunbathed like a lazy bum every day; Corn Flakes three times a day _forever_ is totally made up for by that.

Ron and I haven't had a dinner alone since we got married, but after our spat last week Molly has sort of told us that we're only allowed over four nights a week. She didn't actually say this, but she thinks it'll help our marriage. Who knows, maybe she's right.

So, for three nights a week we have a couple choices: have Ron poison us, starve, or I can try to cook something. I personally prefer to live—all those years in harm's way won't be wasted by one night of poisonous cooking or several weeks of starvation—so I'm going to actually try and cook us a meal on our free nights.

The look on Ron's face when I told him this didn't exactly bolster my confidence.

I decide to try something simple at first. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and some greens beans out of a can. I was going to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at first, but…I figured my _cooking_ experience might actually benefit from _cooking_.

The chicken is simple enough. Throw the pieces in a flour mix and then toss them in a skillet with some oil. Once they're pretty dark I just pull them out.

But oh, the mashed potatoes.

I want us to have tons of leftovers, so I decide to peel a whole sack and just make them all at once. I have to peel them by hand rather than with my wand because, for my first try at this, I don't really trust that I won't just make a mess of the vegetables and have nothing left.

Almost a whole hour later I have a sack of peeled potatoes. My wrist will never work properly again, nor will I ever be able to play piano normally because my fingers are permanently bent.

I use my wand to chop everything up and throw them in a pot.

This is where everything sort of goes downhill. How on earth do you tell when the potatoes are cooked? Do you try to eat one? Stick in a thermometer? I decide to set the thermometer for another hour, and stick the chicken in the oven to keep warm.

The timer goes off right around the time I smell smoke. I was relaxing in a chair in the living room and trying to brush up on my arithmancy, but I doze off after just a couple minutes. I wake up to the heavy scent of smoke and a hazy atmosphere.

Naturally, I've set the chicken afire. That's just something I would do. I'm a genius at magic and school-related things, but when it comes to everyday life I am a world class klutz. Ron loves to point that out.

I'm just finished with draining the potatoes, which are now complete mush, tears trickling down my cheeks to join the boiling water in the sink, when Ron comes rushing out of the bedroom from where he was taking a nap. "Hermione! Why's there smoke everywhere?"

"I..I was making chicken," I blubber as I drop my head over the sink for a steamy facial as my tears continue, "and I didn't know that you shouldn't boil potatoes for that long, and Ginny never let your mother teach me! And I'm mad at your mother because we're going to starve for three nights a week now, and…" I trail off and burst into fresh tears at the thought of a hungry Ron three nights a week. It'll be like scheduled torture.

"Hey," Ron says soothingly, rushing to open the windows and then lead me over to a chair, "don't worry, I'm sure my mum will teach you…"

I start to cry even more at the thought of my mother-in-law having to teach me how to cook for her son. I'm so pathetic.

Seriously, pull yourself together, Hermione. You are acting like a complete loon here. Your husband's looking at you like he's afraid of you, and you probably haven't cried this much since Crookshanks ran away. It's just chicken and potatoes, not the end of the world.

Well, apparently holding yourself together for so many ends of the world makes you a little more sensitive to everyday matters.

Through my teary gaze I see Ron run a hand through his hair and then dash out the back door. Now I'll never stop crying—my husband's just left me for his mother.

I'm beginning to pull myself together a couple minutes later when suddenly Ron comes banging back through the door. I scream and pull out a wand, accidentally turning it towards myself. Ron slams a plate of food down on the table and grabs my wand from me before I can hex myself into oblivion.

"Okay, Hermione," Ron says slowly, "you _really_ need to calm down." He sets another plate of food on the table, along with my wand, and waves his hands in front of him like one would do if one was trying to calm a skittish horse.

I huff at him, even though I know he's right. I need to get a grip before I unravel even further.

"My mum sent over some plates of food," he continues softly as he sits down next to me.

"You told her?!" I squeak, a few more tears escaping at the thought. Molly may love me as a daughter, but she's probably convinced now that I never should have become her _actual_ daughter, however strong an advocate she was for the marriage at the time.

"I just said you were having some trouble with the stove," Ron replies, taking my hand in his—a bold move for him—and rubbing it gently. Yep, I'm officially distracted. If that's how his touch feels on my _hand_, imagine—

"Hermione?"

I blink, blushing as I realize I must have been staring at him dreamily for a little while. The reddening of his ears is a pretty strong indication that he noticed too.

"World class klutz, huh?" I say instead of asking him to repeat whatever he just said. Hopefully it wasn't too important.

Ron gives me a little smile and shakes his head, reaching up to brush the hair away from my forehead as he says, "Definitely not. World class perfectionist? Yes. But that's a good thing."

I sniff and let go of his hand so I can rub my eyes, which are now stinging exquisitely. Ron's grinning at me when I look at him again.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, gathering my courage as I take his hand again. He tries to make the widening of his eyes unnoticeable, but I see it anyway. "I'll try something a bit easier next time."

He shrugs awkwardly. "Maybe…maybe I could help you next time."

"Really?!" I exclaim, unable to contain my excitement. Then I sober and continue sarcastically, "Maybe we'll actually burn the house down this time."

He snorts. "You never know. With both of us working at it…"

I snicker at the thought and look down at the plate of food that he brought me, loaded with spaghetti and garlic bread. "Remind me to thank your mum. She's a lifesaver."

Ron's stomach growls, and his face turns a deep red. "She definitely is."

We eat quietly for a moment, regrettably having to release each other's hands so we don't make a mess. I've decided I'm not going to worry about the destroyed remains of my cooking just a few feet over—I just want to enjoy this time with Ron.

"What d'ya think you want to do about McGonagall's letter?" Ron asks at last.

We took some time to chat about the letter the day after we got the letter, but we've yet to have a serious conversation about it. I swallow my food and sit quietly for a moment as I think of how to respond.

"I think we should go to the interview," Ron continues abruptly, stealing the words from my mouth.

"Me too," I agree. "Do you…you think you might actually want to teach Quidditch?"

Ron shrugs and takes a thoughtful bite of garlic bread. "Maybe," he consents. "The only things I ever really wanted to do in life after school, career-wise, was be an auror and play Quidditch." His eyes darken momentarily. Ron took all his tests to be an auror and passed them with flying colors until a crucial question came up. It asked if he would choose to save a loved one even a lot of people would die should that loved one be saved, and those people surviving if the loved one died. He decided he never wanted to have to make that decision, and walked out.

"You think I could teach?" he asks after a moment of quiet.

I consider this. "I never really considered you as a teacher…but I actually think you'd be a great coach. You always helped the new kids on the team, practicing with them, giving them techniques, and you know all the positions from what Fred and George taught you. If you think you'd actually enjoy it, I think you'd be great at it."

He smiles at me. "Thanks, Hermione." He shrugs dramatically. "And of course you'd be a great teacher at any subject. I'd never have survived Hogwarts without you as my tutor."

I roll my eyes and chuckle. "You'd've been fine. You and Harry always made me so mad…"

We laugh, and then we're quiet for a moment thinking of our best friends who are in London now. I make a mental note for us to go visit them before we go to Hogwarts for the interview with McGonagall.

"I'll owl McGonagall tomorrow morning to let her know," I say as I get up and take my plate to the sink to rinse off. "You think your mum will need Pig for anything?"

Ron shakes his head as he joins me at the sink. "Nah, he won't be gone long." I smile my thanks to him as he vanishes the remains of our first dinner, and I go to stand in front of the back window near the head of the table. This particular window faces the graveyard, about fifty yards off and partially hidden by a great big beech tree. Ron's grandparents were the only ones there until last year. Fred's joined them now.

"You'll have to tell Fred all about it," I murmur, the last word ending in a gasp as Ron's arms come around me as he stands at my back. He's never, ever held me like this. Not that I'd mind if he did this for, well, all the rest of our days, I realize as I relax in his grasp.

"I'll go tomorrow," he whispers. "You can come with me if you want." He rubs his cheek in my hair. I'm about to melt into a puddle right here on our kitchen floor. I pull my brain together with great difficulty so that I can make some intelligible response.

"I'll let you go on your own first," I say, covering the hands around my waist with my own. "I'd like to go by myself tomorrow afternoon."

He doesn't say anything, just holds me a little bit closer, and I'm reminded of the one time I held him like this.

Fred had been gone for three months, and we were in London for the trials. Harry couldn't find Ron anywhere and we all had dinner reservations together in an hour, so Harry, Ginny, and I split up to find him. I kind of just wandered around, having no idea where he might be, and by some miracle I happened upon him at this little duck pond near a really old church. He was staring at the graveyard on the other side of the pond, and I could see how his shoulders were shaking as I came up behind him. That was the first time he ever let me hold him when he cried. I just…put my arms around him. And we stayed that way for a long, long time, until he was spent and could turn around to hold me too.

We're still for a long time now too, a gentle breeze coming through the kitchen from the open windows, the faintest remains of a smoky smell wafting around, Ron's breath on my ear. I hear something like the click of a camera, but chalk it up to the house creaking when the sound doesn't repeat itself. I let out a little, contented sigh, and Ron tightens his arms around me.

"You know, you're the only person I'd ever go back to Hogwarts with," he murmurs.

No wonder he gave Fred and George a run for their money with all the girls chasing after him back at school. He always says the nicest things, while I try to make him sick on burnt chicken and mushy potatoes.

And that is why I'm a horrible person. But Ron's officially a great person. Like I didn't know that already.


End file.
